


Perfunctory Beloved

by Delcea



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Christian guilt, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, High School, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, summer job
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-20 12:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15534501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delcea/pseuds/Delcea
Summary: Tyler had refined masking his honest intuitions because they inconvenienced - everyone else? One person can only contain some burdens for so long.





	1. Dread

**Author's Note:**

> My stories come from things that I daydream about.

"Have you gone to see Jenna this week?" 

Tyler's eyes peered over a book in his hands, his expression dejected, while his mother's actions expressed titillation. Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, Tyler rolled off the couch in a heap in a well-worn cover. 

"How many times are you going to bother me about this?" Tyler posed with his book over his face, his voice subdued further by its presence.

She leaned against the kitchen countertop with a twinkle in her eyes. "I may have - from an unnamed source, mind you - information on the young woman's feelings about a certain someone. Who I may or may not know." 

Tyler brought the book below his eyes, and a taunting tone to his lips "I already mentioned to my unrelenting mother, my indifference." 

"You can't stay in the house all summer, Tyler. You look miserable."

Grumbling through a newly snatched decorative couch pillow, Tyler concealed himself within his mountain of cushions. Tangents were his mother's specialty, and this particular subject was grueling. College, Marriage, and Grandchildren were all visions and justifications for it in his mother's psyche. Tyler wasn't unaware, but he was decidedly fed up. 

"Can you please shut up?" Tyler's tone was heavy-handed, and he instantly resented himself for it. 

"Tyler..." His mother stressed, "I want to see you smile more. That's all."

Tyler separated himself from his fort, stood and wandered over to her side, nudging her fondly. "I know, I'm sorry." 

She embraced him warmly and heaved a sigh into his hair. "Are you applying for a job at the record store?"

"Yeah, waiting for a call."

The call came the next day, with a jaded timbre and a crude itinerary. 

"Hello?"

"This Tyler?"

"Oh - uh, yeah. Is this Solid Strains?"

"Sure is" The voice agreed limply. "Can you come in tomorrow?"

"I haven't had an interview yet." 

"Oh yeah, uh, you ever worked at a music store before?"

Tyler's mind staggered, "Uh, no, I've never worked anywhere." 

"It's whatever, we'll teach you. Come in tomorrow and fill out the background check papers," the voice paused, "how's two o'clock sound?"

"Perfect." Tyler declared perfunctorily. 

Tyler spent the night awake panicking, cleaning and feeling queasy at the sight of food. 

"I can't." Short and to the point, Tyler arranged his own dining room trial. Madison poked her head in from the connecting hallway, face expressing consternation. She shook her head warningly. 

"Can't what?" His mother's tone forewarned confrontation, and Tyler dragged his eyes up to look at her, head laying uncomfortably on the table. 

"I can't - go." Tyler hated when his voice trembled.


	2. Out Of The Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interviews are hard and people are fucking terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I write from a place of experience?

Being dropped off in a rundown parking lot of an equally rundown strip mall by his mother was without a doubt the highlight of Tylers week. The recently painted concrete reeked and Tyler pinched his nose as he got out of the car. His mother handed him a plain folder, with an apologetic look gracing her features. 

"This has everything you need and we've talked everything through, Tyler. You're going to do great."

Tyler shuffled his feet and nodded guardedly in her direction. "Yeah, I know."

This was a lie. But Tyler knew better than to continue to attempt his multi-year continued attempts at explaining his anxiety to his religious parents, who continued to insist that God would help him if he prayed hard enough every day. "Is there like a formula? How many hours I gotta pray before something changes?" He'd asked once - which was a fucking mistake. Defensive Christian parents going on about faith and God's mysterious ways got old after the 50th time and Tyler had decided long ago it was better to keep his comments to himself. 

"Make sure to talk to them about how you make music, Tyler, I'm sure they'll like that. You'll make friends."

"Okay." Tyler needed a lie counter, like a step counter he could carry in his pocket, except instead of measuring his healthy habit success he could celebrate his inability to be himself around his family. Sermon after sermon about God never making mistakes, really didn't make sense to Tyler when everyone else sitting in the room had a facade they'd perfectly crafted, and he'd promised himself he would never be one of them. 

His mother drove away with a wave out the window and Tyler turned towards his impending, vintage smelling doom. The bright yellow parking space lines, also freshly painted, stood before him like a warning not to take another step. It was a Monday, and the place was near deserted, the few cars in the lot most likely owned by the sparse employees of the few stores still open. 

The bell to the front door jingled as Tyler entered, providing him relief from the stench outside. He heaved a sigh and breathed deeply. 

"Hey man."

Tyler's head whipped upwards instantly, the voice that addressed him owned by a man his own age, with a head of startingly pink hair. 

"Wow."  
The man smiled and pointed towards his own head. "This?"  
"Yeah, I've never seen a guy wear that color before. In person."  
"Would you believe me if I told you I lost a bet?"  
Tyler puzzled, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I dunno, would you be offended if I said I didn't?"  
The man shrugged, amused. "Not at all. I'm Josh, by the way, if you need help finding anything."   
Tyler's brain flickered back to life. "Oh! Oh, um, yeah I'm here for an interview actually."  
"Oh, okay. Lemme let the boss know." 

Josh walked to the back, leaving Tyler in the predictably musty smelling grunge shop. The bright blue walls screamed at Tyler as if the color could seep into him and make him feel as uncool as the shop didn't realize it was.

A mostly nondescript, large bearded man stepped out from the back with a sleeve of tattoos as his only defining feature. Tyler was greeted, asked a total of three boring questions about his work ethic and interest in becoming a slave to the store for minimum wage, and left to gawk at the hideous 'Solid Strains' embroidered hat handed to him. 

"You're not wearing one of these," Tyler said questioningly to Josh.   
"My hair cannot be contained," he answered haphazardly, as he sorted a bin filled with forsaken early 90s cd's. "No but seriously, you don't have to wear it long. Just the first couple of days of training and afterward they don't really care."

"Why is everything in here so..." Tyler cut himself off, knowing offending a coworker on his pre-first day of work would disappoint his parents.   
"Too much?" Josh supplied, his eyes now trained on the eye violative blue paint.   
"Well, I mean... it's dated."  
"It's kinda cool though, you have to admit."  
Tyler laughed brilliantly, "It's not charming if that's what you mean. Not like an antique store, even though they smell the same."

"I'll have you know I personally purchase and strategically hide cotton breeze from next door to combat that exact problem." Josh was astonishingly nice, and Tyler couldn't find his earlier anticipated need to bolt.  
"Hawaiian Sunset always wins at my house."

**Author's Note:**

> Update coming soon. Sorry this is so short to start.


End file.
